


The Gambler

by insominia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Oblivious Sam Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Canon, Retired Hunter Dean Winchester, dadstiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 06:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20831246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia
Summary: The unthinkable happens. The Winchesters have seen off demons, knights of Hell and angelic megalomaniacs. They've taken on lesser Gods, demi-Gods and false Gods. That is to say nothing of all the run of the mill monsters they've taken care of. And, just how many times have they saved the world by now? But, something happens that not even the most seasoned of hunters could have anticipated.Dean Winchester retires.





	The Gambler

**Author's Note:**

> Let's give some love to Kirby who was lovely enough to beta this <3

When the unthinkable happened it all came down to a ghost.

Dean Winchester had been hunting since before he was old enough to appreciate what hunting was. He had been to heaven, to hell and everything in between several times over. He had fought his way out of Purgatory, borne the Mark of Cain and survived possession by an archangel. And, between all of that, he’d been something other than human more times than he could remember. He’d died and come back too many times to count, so it surprised everyone, none more than Dean himself that when it finally happened, it was a ghost.

Not a particularly powerful ghost either. A standard salt and burn, though with two possible locations for its bones. Cas had taken the graveyard, Sam and Dean had taken the house. Dean was on watch while Sam dug for the bones and when the ghost appeared, he was _pissed_. He went for Dean while Sam dug faster, not stopping, not even when he heard the crash and splintering of wood behind him. He heard Dean’s groan, but barely registered it as he scraped away soil to reveal...nothing.

_Shit_.

When Sam turned to view the scene behind him, he was dimly aware that his heart had stopped in his chest. Dean was lying on the floor, tangled in the wreckage of the table the ghost had thrown him through, staring up at the ceiling, his eyes blank, unfocused.

“_Dean_,” Sam breathed, alerting the ghost to his presence. The ghost turned and took a few steps towards him, Sam readied the shotgun filled with salt but before he could get a round off the ghost stopped moving and with an unholy scream, dissolved into flames.

Dimly, Sam was aware that his phone was buzzing in his pocket, no doubt Cas calling to check if he’d been successful. But Sam ignored it, letting the shotgun clatter to the ground as he ran to his brother’s side.

“Dean?” he snapped, clearing pieces of stray wood from around him, pulling huge splinters _out of_ him. “Dean?” he said again, louder this time, aware that his brother still stared at the ceiling, glassy and unseeing, more than just winded.

When Dean finally let out a cough, relief flooded Sam so hard and fast he almost passed out. His phone was still buzzing but he didn’t reach for it, more intent on helping Dean sit up. Then the unthinkable. The thing that neither of them had ever thought possible, so much so that they had never even entertained the prospect. Not really.

Dean coughed, wiping away dust, blood, God knows what else and grumbled, “That’s it, Sam. I’m out.”

Dean Winchester retired.

Sam, of course, thought he was joking, and didn’t bring it up while he helped Dean into Baby, all the while listening to him cuss up a storm over how badly his back was hurting.

“’m getting too old for this, shit, Sammy,” he growled, grimacing as he slid into the passenger seat, giving up the driver’s seat reluctantly. On the way back to the motel, Dean muttered plans under his breath.

“You’ll have to pick one of the cars in the bunker’s garage, or we can steal you something nice. Better have room in the trunk though,” using his thumb to gesture over his shoulder, he hissed in pain as even that simple motion sent pain shooting through him, “_sonofabitch_! Anyway, needs room in the trunk, so we can move the armoury.”

“You’re not retiring, Dean,” Sam said, patiently but beside him, Dean just laughed.

“The hell I ain’t. I’m too old for this shit, that ghost put me through a table and I ain’t gonna walk properly for _at least_ a week. I’m done. I’m out.”

Back at the motel, Dean had wanted to start packing straight away. Seeing as he could barely stand, he’d allowed himself to drop onto the bed instead, not bothered in the slightest that the covers were getting filthy. Cas had appeared not long after, practically blowing the door off in his haste to find them.

“Neither of you are answering,” he snapped, holding his phone up, still ringing Sam and Sam gave a guilty wince.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s Dean- he-”

Sam was well used to Cas walking off while he was mid-sentence. Especially when those sentences concerned Dean. So he barely registered it when Cas pushed past him to get near Dean, leaning down beside the bed, lifting ripped flannel so he could examine the injuries beneath. When he was satisfied that there was nothing life-threatening he shot Sam a smite-worthy glare over his shoulder and Sam appreciated that he probably should have checked in.

“He’s retiring,” Sam had blurted out, expecting Cas to be as amused as he was.

Castiel was decidedly not. In fact, his whole body softened, as though letting out a long-held and weary sigh. He looked back at Dean and breathed, “Finally.”

Sam didn’t believe it at the time. He didn’t believe it when they returned to the bunker and Dean called round all the hunters they knew to tell them the news, just so they wouldn’t call him out anymore. He didn’t believe it when he found Dean and Cas bent over their laptops looking for property somewhere seeing as while Dean was at the bunker, he’d be too tempted to go out and hunt. Five weeks after the run-in with the ghost he was still limping. It wasn’t that he was never going to hunt again, but he was too old to hunt with Sam the way they had when Dad had gone on a hunting trip and not come home in a few days.

Sam still didn’t believe it and when Dean called to him, “Check this out, Sam,” pointing at his laptop screen, Sam fully expected to find details of a hunt. A weird police report, an unexplained news article...he didn’t expect to find himself looking at blueprints. Blueprints for a house.

“Huh,” Sam breathed, “you’re really doing it?”

Dean had looked up at his brother with an incredulous expression, “Yeah, Sam. You been sleeping this last month? Yeah, I’m hanging up the guns...and the angel blades... and everything else I’ve got knocking around. Now check this out. Bobby left us his place, yeah? Not much use at the moment since the place got trashed, but we can rebuild, right?”

Nodding along while his brother pointed out where he was going to put what and started waxing lyrical over the garage he’d build next door so he could at least pretend to have a job, Sam didn’t actually say anything until Dean pointed out a room in the plans, saying, “and that'll be your room.”

“My room?”

“Yeah for when you stay over or...you know if you wanted to get out...or...whatever,” Dean flushed and went back to talking about the garage.

Dean finalised the plans, talked to Jody and who knows who else, getting stuff ready so he could get started on the house. Deep down, Sam still didn’t believe it. He lived in a constant state of disbelief, waiting for Dean to snap out of it and get back on the road.

Jack started bringing home interior decorating magazines and excitedly showed Dean how to “make the most of his space” using furniture they’d never be able to afford even on scammed credit cards. Dean indulged him and Castiel pointed out that there were some good ideas scattered amongst the expense, but still Sam didn’t believe it. In fact, Sam didn’t believe it until Dean started arranging a way to transport his mattress. At that point, he let out a, “_huh_,” of surprise as though Dean hadn’t been making similar plans for the last two months.

It was in a daze that Sam helped Dean actually head out to Sioux Falls. Jody had found a small trailer from somewhere that Dean could live out of while they worked on the house. It was going to be a lot of work, but Sam was surprised to find that the worst of the rubble had already been cleared, courtesy of Jody, again, before they got there. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Dean seemed to know exactly what he was doing, directing every hunter who showed up to help him build the place as though he’d been a foreman all his life.

By the time Sam had gotten his head around the fact that Dean had actually retired, for real retired, most of the house was built. By the time he got used to the bunker being down to just him and Jack, Dean was ordering furniture. And by the time Sam figured out not only that he was actually okay hunting without his brother and how he was going to do it, Jody’s friend was taking back the trailer and Dean was living in Bobby’s place mark II.

Of course, Sam had helped out as much as he could. It seemed every hunter in the country had pitched in and Dean had assured them that for as long they brought beer there’d always be a place for them to lay their heads. Sam had let them carry on with the physical stuff and had spent most of his time “helping” by stopping Dean and Castiel ripping each other’s heads off as they argued over what colour wallpaper would look good where. Sam hadn’t even realised his brother had opinions on wallpaper. When the place was done though, he had to admit, Dean was right, the blue looked way better in the hallway than the kitchen. When Sam had told them so Castiel had glared at him while Dean had practically flipped a table in his vindication. Although Castiel had stalked out of the room muttering under his breath about going somewhere he was appreciated he didn’t actually go anywhere. A few weeks later, the former angel had seemed surprised when Sam had asked him if he was coming back to the bunker.

“Wha-Wait...Why would I come back to the bunker?”

“Uh...it’s where you live?” Sam replied with an audible eye roll.

Even talking over the phone, Sam could hear Castiel’s head tilt as he said, “I live _here_, Sam. With Dean...is...is that ok?”

“What? No, sure, yeah, of course, it’s fine,” Sam beamed, “I just didn’t think you were...doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. It’s fine, Cas. Say hi to Dean for me.”

When Sam had hung up he’d found himself grinning at nothing in particular for a long time, wondering if maybe, just maybe, Dean and Cas might get their heads out of their asses at long last. Stranger things had happened.

Retirement agreed with Dean. Hunting with Jack, knowing that retirement agreed with Dean, agreed with Sam. The brothers talked all the time. After a lifetime of sharing motel rooms, it was hardly surprising it felt weird to both of them to not send at the very least a text once a day. Sam preferred to call though, he liked to hear what Dean was up to from his own mouth. Contentment was a good sound for his brother. And when Sam swung by, either for a visit or coming back from a hunt, he saw that it was a good look for him too.

Sam would never say it to his brother, not to his face at any rate, but since he’d retired, Dean Winchester was positively domestic. He fixed up enough cars to keep himself afloat without having to scam too much in credit card fraud, he cooked actual meals in his kitchen and always made sure there was enough in case Sam dropped by. If he didn’t, Claire would usually have it. Then there was the garden out back, entirely Castiel’s project of course, but it meant Dean had a continuous supply of ingredients for spells or whatever else a hunter might need them for. There were the lore books that still got used even if Dean didn’t go into the field so much. He hadn’t taken much from the bunker, but he hadn’t needed to. Sam had always insisted the guy was a genius and watching him fiddle with the stove while talking into the phone tucked in his shoulder, managing to describe exactly what the monster was, without having need to check the stacks was pretty awesome validation.

Still, nothing quite prepared Sam for the first time he saw Dean pick up one of the landlines attached to the wall and with a grunt said, “Willis, FBI.” For the longest time afterwards, Sam had just stared at him with the kind of awe he thought he’d grown out of in high school. “What?” Dean snapped, but it lacked any annoyance, Dean hardly get annoyed any more.

“Nothing it’s just-” Sam broke off, not quite able to articulate his thoughts. He’d wanted to say Bobby would be proud but there was no way Dean would ever be content enough to hear shit like that. So he gave a little shrug. Dean seemed to catch on anyway.

“Right?” Dean gestured to the lounge around them, “look at us now, huh?”

Sam had raised his beer, he’d drink to that.

Dropping in on Dean was always fun, but coming across him doing shit that Sam had never pictured him doing was the gift that kept on giving.

There was the time Sam pulled up to the house and found Dean walking Claire out to her car.

“Hi Sam,” she’d waved, with the distinct air of someone who wasn’t stopping.

Dean handed her a bag, “I packed you some of last night’s chicken in case you get hungry, you’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”

Claire caught Sam’s eye and shook her head, “Thanks, _dad_.”

“And call Cas,” Dean called after her, “You know he worries.”

“I will!”

“You better!”

They watched her get in her car and pull away when Dean muttered, “she’s never gonna call him.” Sam followed him into the house, biting his lip to stop laughing at Dean cursing under his breath at the ingratitude of kids.

One time Sam pulled up and couldn’t find Dean anywhere, calling to him until he eventually heard, “Down here in the orchard,” because, _of course_, he had an orchard now. When Sam caught up to him Dean was precariously balancing on a step ladder, throwing small apples from one of the trees down to the basket on the ground. “Heya, Sammy. Thought I’d do us an apple pie for dessert if you fancy it?”

Sam might not have been as into pie as Dean was, but how could he have said no to the way his brother looked like a big kid, grinning at him from between branches, his freckles even more pronounced from his time in the sun. Not for the first or last time, Sam appreciated just how much this life suited his brother. “Sounds great, Dean.”

“Great, get over there and start picking, s’not like you need a ladder to reach.”

And of course, there was the time Sam had come across Dean working on something in the garage. Something long and wooden.

Sam frowned and started, “Is that-”

“Chicken coop,” Dean grinned, “Cas wants chickens. We were gonna buy one but the ones at the store were shit, I mean, _really_ shit Sam. Looked like they’d fall apart in a light breeze, so I’m building him one. Hoping to get it back before he gets back.”

“Where is he?”

“Got wind of some vetelas operating over in Ohio. He’s hoping to be back by the weekend so I’m hoping to have this out back by the time he does.”

Sam folded his arms and looked at his brother’s, albeit impressive, craftsmanship. “Chickens?”

Dean shrugged, “I dunno, the guy likes chickens I guess and it’s not like we’re hurting for space...” he trailed off for a moment, “Actually, I was drawing up plans for an extension out back, figured Jack’s room isn’t big enough for him. Come take a look then you can help me with this,” he looked up at Sam, almost panicked for a moment, “but, don’t tell Cas about the coop, yeah? It’s a surprise.”

Because always there was Cas.

It was that very night, while they were digging into one of Dean’s more delicious casseroles, that Sam frowned into his veg (Dean cooked and ate veg now since Cas grew it) and voiced the thought that had just that moment struck him. “Hey, Cas doesn’t have a room here, does he? Like he did at the bunker I mean?” Dean looked at him as though he’d sprouted fangs and sparkled in direct sunlight. Sam cleared his throat again, “I mean you’ve got a room, I’ve got a room, Jack’s got a room, hell you’ve got a spare for random hunters and I know Claire spends as much time here as she does at Jody’s, but...where does Cas sleep? Or not sleep? Whatever he does.”

Dean scoffed, “What the hell kind of question is that?” But he didn’t actually answer it, so Sam never did find out where Cas went when Dean retired for the night.It wasn't as though he could stick around and find out for himself without it being both obvious and awkward, so Sam dropped it. One thing was for sure, though. This new life suited Cas as much as it did Dean.

He seemed to glow, brighter than his grace had ever done, at least. His skin was consistently tanned from so much time outdoors rather than shut up several metres underground, he seemed to have grown into his frame even though, as an angel, he didn’t actually need to eat but most of all, he was always smiling. The frown lines that had once etched his face had gone, he seemed brighter, happier and he laughed more than Sam had ever known.

There was something about the way the two of them moved around each other. The bunker’s almost industrial kitchen had never forced any of its occupants together, but the new kitchen was smaller and both Dean and Castiel manoeuvred around each other with constant, casual touches. Neither of them mentioned it, or even seemed to notice it, but Sam did. Likewise, he noticed when they settled in to watch a movie or something, Dean and Cas would leave the single-seater for Sam while they both leaned into each other on the sofa. That was nothing new, they’d done the same at the bunker, but this time Sam would swear they were more relaxed in doing so. Maybe it was just the lack of stress caused by their new life.

That was not to say it was a stress-free existence. Dean worried something terrible about Cas every time he went on a hunt. Not that Cas made a habit of it, but when he did Sam didn’t need to ask Dean if Cas was about. He knew just from the curt way Dean would snap during their calls. But such hunts were infrequent, an occasional interruption to the domestic bliss Dean had carved out for himself. Sam made it a point to stop by Dean’s place every time he returned from a hunt, even if the bunker was closer. Dean’s place was restorative in a way the bunker could never be. A home in the way the bunker had never been. He always left feeling well-rested and recovered regardless of what injuries he’d rocked up with. At least Dean’s first aid skills were never left to get rusty. When Sam and Jack got back to the bunker, they’d usually find leftovers and beer slipped into the trunk, sometimes with a carton of eggs that Cas had gathered that morning, a little taste of home away from home.

It was like a madhouse the day that Sam found out. Found out would be a strong term because really, hadn’t he always known? Hadn’t _everyone_ always known? Sam and Jack hadn’t told Dean they were dropping in, not that they needed to, Dean was always happy to see them. They’d found Jody and Claire arguing over something or other and while Dean was staying out of it he was clearly on Jody’s side which was only serving to infuriate Claire further. Castiel, on the other hand, had never been so grateful to see Sam and Jack, using their unexpected arrival as an excuse to head into town. After all, they surely needed more supplies if they had two more mouths to feed. Even if one of those mouths didn’t eat and Dean always had enough in for Sam. But the trench coat was on before anybody could argue, not that Jody or Claire had paused for breath to look up. Sam, Dean and Jack stood around awkwardly while the two of them went at each other, but then Cas ducked back in.

“Forgot my wallet,” he muttered to Dean, reaching towards the table behind him.

“Assbutt,” Dean teased, affectionately, and as casually as anything Dean had ever done, he leaned in and kissed Cas. “Don’t take too long,” he added and Cas nodded, turning back to kiss Dean on the nose before he went out the door again.

Sam’s jaw had hit the floor with enough force to rock the foundations. He looked over at Jack, but either Jack hadn’t seen it or thought it was a perfectly natural thing to do seeing as he hadn’t reacted. Clearly, he hadn’t seen it then. Claire and Jody hadn’t been drawn from their argument either, though eventually, that died down in the way it always did. Claire promising to be more careful, Jody swearing she was just trying to keep Claire safe and Dean nudging her in the ribs and saying, “And call Cas more when you’re on a hunt.” Claire rolled her eyes, but Dean scoffed, "Don't give me that, you want patching up after a hunt? You wanna sleep under our roof? You can check in with us, okay?" He gave her a one-armed hug, pulling her close for a moment, "we worry."

By the time Cas got back, harmony had been restored and Dean was taking meat out to the grill, seeing as they had the numbers they might as well do something special. Sam took him a beer but it was entirely an excuse to get his brother alone for a moment and quietly he asked, “So uh...did I see you and Cas...kiss...earlier?”

He expected Dean to deny it with gusto, to laugh it off, not to frown and carry on lighting the grill as if Sam had made a casual observation about the weather. “Probably, why?”

“So...you guys kiss now?”

“The hell are you talking about Sam, ‘course we kiss. We’ve been living together for God knows how long, did you hit your head?” There was only sincerity in Dean’s expression and it occurred to Sam that kissing Cas was apparently so normal that he genuinely thought Sam might be concussed to even question it.

“No it’s just- it’s fine-I...I didn’t realise things had changed between you two is all.”

Again Dean frowned, his attention only half on his brother, “Nothing’s changed, Sam. Grab those matches, will ya?”

Sam didn’t bring it up again, after all, it wasn’t as if he was anything less than euphoric at the developments. He made a point to watch Dean and Cas though, the way they always seemed to know where the other was even when they weren’t looking, the way they could communicate whole conversations with just glances. The way Dean would glance away shyly when he caught Cas looking at him or the way Cas would flush when Dean flirted with him outrageously. When they made up a plate for themselves they stood so close their shoulders bumped, but neither of them moved away. And of course, there were the longing glances that had been a staple of bunker living.

Oh, thought Sam, as Cas leaned in to kiss some relish off Dean’s lips. In hindsight, nothing had really changed at all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
